


Wrong Hands

by OPD



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers IDW
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:56:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6572494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OPD/pseuds/OPD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When weapons created from Megatron's previous body are distributed among humans, they were not expected to fall into the wrong hands...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maunakea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maunakea/gifts).



> Dear Maunakea,
> 
> I am still very much working on that -other- story, but this one kind of tackled me and ran.. so here's a beginning..  
> Thanks for the inspiration and the stories that make me laugh or cry (or both) on nights when I can't sleep..
> 
> OPD

Wrong Hands.

 

Clammy servos haunted me in my recharge. It was a clever and pragmatic idea to turn the weapon that had been my body into well.. weapons. It worked like a dream. The ease with which the creatures of this world squeezed the trigger was honestly a little daunting, but it was their touch that truly made my plating crawl. It would not be the first time I'd find ribbons gouged into my recharge slab or wall, and my servos missing paint. It was hard on my recharge and distracting while awake. A tremor finally awoke me to full wakefulness. Somewhere, a hand shook enough to worry it might drop me. I listened for the sounds surrounding the latest pair of serv- hands I'd fallen into. (I really should get the terminology right.) The shaking increased. I promised myself I'd slag them all -so help me Primus- should I be deposited into one of those organic waste receptacles. Why pick up a weapon if you are afraid to hold one? I felt a sudden drop and then a bump. Gouged plating itched in a phantom sting across my body.  
Stupi-

“Who is there?”

Hmm sensitive. I hadn't even said anything yet but it seemed to have keyed in to my presence. It's voice was high. Not just due to fear, but a naturally higher pitch. The creature was a.. femme? 

“Put it back where you got it, little Earth-femme.” I whispered at it, “It isn't meant for you.”

“N-no” it said, “I need it.”

Really now? I felt my dermas quirk sharply. 

“And what would one like yourself need with a weapon?”

I felt a short and hard breath blow across my frame.

“Look, I just do. Where – Who are you, anyway?”

“Put the gun out of sight, we shall speak again” I promised her. I needed no one thinking she was crazy or dangerous, regardless of my opinion on that matter.

The sticky moisture disappeared and a sensation of dark warmth pressed against me. I figured it was some form of subspace. (Ahh yes, terminology) A “purse”? Dare I say it? I felt pretty comfortable. 

The door chime sounded. No surprise to find Soundwave requesting entrance. Like I said, it's a bit tricky to keep everything straight in my processor. It took me a second to answer. 

“If the handler is a femme, then perhaps the weapon should be retrieved and redistributed, Lord Megatron.”

I glared at him. I hadn't asked for his opinion, whereas I had asked for my privacy. My most loyal Decepticon.. indeed.

“Later Soundwave, I wish to engage the creature.”

He nodded and backed out my door without another word.

My plating crackled as I stretched. It sprung back smooth and seamlessly. I'd wager the Second Moon the esthetics were Soundwave's. Smooth planes and curves so different from any previous profile. I'd never tell him of course, but as I ran my optics over my own reflection, I'd have to agree the result was becoming. I'd have to watch Optimus Prime closely for his reaction. I grinned at myself.  
The co-ordinates of the weapon toting femme told me she was in Detroit. I have fond memories of Detroit. This ought to be fun.


End file.
